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BY THE SIDE 
OF THE ROAD 

WRITTEN BY 

F. D. VAN AMBURGH 

De Luxe Edition 



PUBLISHED BY 

THE 
VAN AMBURGH PUBLICATIONS, Inc. 

200 Fifth Avenue 
NEW YORK CITY 




Y■•^. ^ \ J>\ 






Copyright, 1 91 6, 
BY F. D. VAN AMBURGH 



VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY 

^IflOHAMTON AND NEW YORK 



> 



$0 



NOV -6 1916 

©C1,A446218 



TO 

MY FAITHFUL FRIENDS 



CONTENTS 



Foreword . 9 

December 11 

Credit 23 

Let's Go Back 29 

Know Thyself • • 33 

Thrift 37 

To Forget 45 

The Optimist 49 

His Mother 55 

Enthusiasm and Experience 61 

Out West 65 

Sleep 69 

Mother 73 

Carelessness 77 

Fear 81 

Stop Fooling Yourself 87 



Christmas 93 

Graft 97 

A Picture loi 

Race Hatred 105 

Friendship After Business 109 

The Trail We Walk 113 

The Faithful Failure 119 

In the Same Boat 123 

Happiness 127 

Vacation Time 131 

It Takes Courage 135 

Highbrow 139 

Tomorrow 143 

Think This Over 147 

Cooperation 151 

White Sails 157 




*' By the Side of the Road " is a bound vol- 
ume of some of the articles that have appeared 
in The Silent Partner (a little magazine of in- 
spiration and human interest, published at 200 
Fifth Avenue, New York), together with sev- 
eral heretofore unpublished articles written by 
the editor of The Silent Partner, Mr. Van Am- 
burgh. 

A sample copy of The Silent Partner, the 
little magazine of good cheer and good will, 
will be mailed free on request. 



FOREWORD 




|N writing this little effort, " By 
the Side of the Road," I have 
hoped to bring back the sun- 
beams of the South, the snow- 
caps of the North, the teeming 
marts of the crowded East, 
and the great hills of the vast Alone. 
I have tried to make the work bigger and 
broader than any single street, tried to touch 
the octaves in human activities and the lost 
chord in human hearts. 

Briefly, I have tried to give expression to 
thoughts that will work out in everyday life 
— thoughts that will help humans to help 
themselves. 

I have tried to tell all this in a simple way — 
tried to have the energy of thought take the 
place of beauty of language. 



And at last the book is bound — bound in the 
lavender thought of good will, and affection- 
ately dedicated to my faithful friends. 




New York City, 
1916. 



10 



DECEMBER 



Years are not the things that count. Old 
men are young at sixty-five; young men 
are old at forty. 

The moment a man acquiesces in the 
thought that he is old in age, that mo- 
ment he begins to get ancient in ambi- 
tion. Many men with wrinkled skin have 
a soul as smooth as velvet. 
Desert your ideals, and you will grow old. 
Fear yourself and fear others, and life 
naturally is not worth living. It is a 
form of slavery, and sufficiently disap- 
pointing to make any man grow old. 
So long as you keep the central fires of 
love and affection burning, just so long 
will life hold for you that lure, that un- 
failing youthful appetite for more. 
Man is as young as his love and as old 
as his lonesomeness. Keep the old fire 
burning. 




This is the season when I would brush away 
the drifted snows of adversity, and let the ten- 
drils of your better self get the sunshine of 
life. 



lECEMBER is the month that 
should bring sunshine into 
your soul; for it is the season 
of sentiment, the period of our 
higher thoughts. December 
gives us the greatest day in all 
the year — Christmas Day. 
Christmas comes in cold December, when the 
frigid breath of the night freezes the crystal 
to the thorn like a mourner's tear, that in turn 
becomes a glistening emblem of youth and 
hope in the morning light. 
December is not of the day: it's in the heart. 
Christmas is not of the calendar: it's in the 
soul. 

If I were asked to interpret the true spirit of 
Christmas, I would sit down here by the side 
of the road and call for the help of a little 
child. 

Though my heart is aflame at the moment 
with the spirit of Christmas, it cannot hope 

13 



By to hold that simplicity known to a child only. 

the And this simplicity is the true Christmas spirit 

^{'^^ — Christ in a cattle-bed. 

%.oad^ If it were possible for me to raise the rod of 
universal power, I would, with one imperial, 
kingly gesture, so cluster the stars in the 
heavens that they would spell out the words, 
" Peace on earth." 

I would bring to the world, at this hour, 
happiness by affection, and not hell by afflic- 
tion. 

Without a navy, without an army, or even 
a church, I would march men past the prob- 
lems of life, up where they could hear the 
echoes and the reechoes of eternal truth. I 
would take you, dear friend, with me, away 
from the cold, commercial world, up on the 
hill where the sun of your own conscience 
might shine and gild the way for the less for- 
tunate ones. I would not preach, for I am 
one of those " faithful failures " ; I would not 
teach, for I have yet to learn. Sitting by the 
side of the road with you and talking with 
you " man to man," I would speak of Christ- 
mas in particular, because this is the one sea- 
son that reaches the inner chamber of a man's 
soul; and this is what I am after — the in- 
side lining of your heart. 
It is at this particular season — Christmas 
time — that the greater emotions in the hu- 
14 



man heart find their way to the world. And By 
still, what seems so very strange to me is the 
that no man can tell why we celebrate this •^j^® 
particular season at this particular hour, and ^ ^*® 
found his telling upon indubitable evidence. 
Strange, isn't it, that so incomparable an 
event as the birth of Christ should be actually 
lost as to definite date, and at a time when 
Seneca said: "Crime is no more a secret, 
but stalks before the eyes of man; innocence 
is not rare, but does not exist at all." This 
was the time that Jesus was born ; but the ex- 
act hour, the exact day of His birth, the time 
when the infant King was bom in Bethlehem, 
no man knows. Some said it was April 20th, 
others declared it was May 20th, while many 
set the sacred date for January 6th; but no 
man knows. 

If you will grant me, as we sit here by the 
side of the road, the license of historical poetry, 
I will refer you to the accepted season when 
"the grass and herbs were commanded to 
come forth'* — when "the days and nights 
were of equal length " ; and we all know that 
this particular date must have been March 
25th as of the modem calendar. 
Accepting this date as a foundation for 
creation — " a time when the glorious light 
sprang out of darkness" — we are reasoned 
into the conclusion that it was probably on 

15 



By this date that the power of the Almighty over- 
the shadowed Mary and " Dayspring from on 
^{^^, high " entered the world. And here again 
Ralf the pretty poem of reasoning carries the mind 
forward nine months to December 25th — 
Christmas Day. 

We have established, at least to my satis- 
faction, the date of the birth of the King of 
kings; and now I ask you, Why is it that we 
call Him the " Sun of righteousness " ? Per- 
haps it is because ancient people celebrated 
the day when "the world's darkness begins 
to lessen," and this day we hold to be this 
same wonderful day — Christmas Day. And 
perhaps here you have the reason for that 
wonderful title — the " Sun of righteousness." 
And now that we seem to have found some 
facts of interest, let us trace what prompts 
the spirit of giving at Christmas time. We 
all know the first Christmas gift was God's 
only-begotten Son, and He was given "that 
whosoever believeth in Him should not per- 
ish, but have eternal life." But it was not un- 
til three hundred years later that the follow- 
ers of Christ began to celebrate Christmas, 
and to attach to this wonderful day many 
pagan ideas and customs. 
Before Christ came, Egyptian youths were 
bringing branches and palms to Horus; Per- 
sians were singing the birth of Mithra; the 
16 



Hindoos were shouting their praise of Vishnu ; By 
friends and relatives were exchanging gifts of ^^.^ 
great value, and so great were the values of i ^. 
these gifts that they often bankrupted the Rq^^ 
givers; and here you have what I have re- 
ferred to as one of the pagan ideas of the 
spirit of Christmas. 

And while we are on this pagan subject — 
the idea of heathen worship — let me tell you 
of the druids of old, who made wreaths of 
mistletoe, with which they crowned their 
priests, and with which they decked their sacri- 
ficial altars. And even the heathen man of 
to-day feels that he has a perfect right to kiss 
a maid while under the mistletoe. Of course 
the mistletoe cannot be associated with Christ- 
mas in any way save in the manner of sweet 
giving. 

And there are so many more things, like the 
history of the holly — the holly that grows 
so slowly and lives to be so very old. It is 
supposed that the crimson berries were white 
at one time, and that they were dyed with 
the blood of Christ. The Danes have a tra- 
dition that holly leaves were a part of the 
crown of our crucified Lord, and that when 
they were placed upon His head they turned 
to thorns. 

There are so many legends concerning the 
natal day of our Saviour that I am embar- 

17 



of the 
Road 



By rassed by the wealth of yuletide lore that mer- 
the its narration; but I must tell you the legend 
Side^ concerning Christmas cards. It appears that 
the present-day custom of sending Christmas 
cards is but the continued habit of the people 
who made pilgrimages to the temple or to 
the shrine where the skulls of the three Wise 
Men repose, and many today believe this 
shrine to be under the cathedral at Cologne. 
At this resting place, people would write their 
impressions ; hence the Christmas cards. 
And while we are sitting here, by the side 
of the road, I want to point you to the spruce 
tree that you see over there, not far away. 
Well, right near that spruce tree, I am told, 
was another little spruce tree. Not long ago, 
one December day, a towering oak said to 
the little spruce tree, " You are too small to 
be of any earthly use." And the little spruce 
tree wept, and its tears hardened into clear, 
round drops, which we call gum. The next 
day a boy chopped down the little spruce tree 
and took it home for Christmas, and now we 
know why the little folks like the little spruce 
tree. 

But the story of the yule log always inter- 
ested me, therefore I want to tell you of what 
was a memorably happy event in the more 
or less commonplace existence of the long 
ago, and this was tiie cutting, trimming, and 
i8 



placing on the fire of the yule log. Even the By 
smaller children were employed in helping to the 
carry this great log to the fire, for fear of J^^. 
its touching the floor. From a remaining p-„ j^ 
brand of the yule log the next year's log was 
lighted, and in this manner good luck, good 
fortune, was carried from year to year. 
Should the yule log fail to bum until morn- 
ing, the omen was very bad. 
When I was a small boy I often read the 
story of the great goddess Hertha, who lived 
in the centuries that have passed — how Her- 
tha came down the chimney instead of through 
the door, and how all the members of the 
family would gather together in the big front 
room and wait for Hertha to descend through 
the smoke of the old chimney — wait for Her- 
tha to tell fortunes to them before a great al- 
tar of flat stones, erected in the center of the 
room. And here we have, in the history of 
Hertha, a part of the childhood fabric of Santa 
Claus. And I told you in the beginning that 
"if I were asked to interpret the true spirit 
of Christmas, I would call for the help of a 
little child." 

Human nature is the same today as it was 
centuries ago; and I want you, if you can, to 
turn back the hands on the dial of time and, 
in imagination, journey with me to Egypt in 
the company of the fleeing Holy Family. I 

19 



By want you to see, in your mind's eye, Mary 
the seeking shelter in a cave, hiding from the sol- 
t h ^^^^^ °^ Herod; and while she and her babe 
Road ^^^ sheltered by the great rocks, a spider spins 
its web over the entrance of the cave, and the 
soldiers of the king are persuaded to move 
on. The next day Mary journeys farther, and 
as she passes a wheat field this wonderful 
Madonna drops a coin given her by Melchior, 
and immediately a wheat field springs into full 
head. The pursuing soldiers of Herod in- 
quire if any fugitives have passed this way, 
and a man replies : " Not since the field was 
sown." And again the soldiers go on their 
way. 

How many beautiful legends linger in the 
mind at Christmas time ! And do you realize 
that the happiest hours that we have are 
those when our thoughts dwell on the past? 
Perhaps this is why we see that halo over 
yesterday. Perhaps this is why all the sweet- 
est songs in my heart blend with the golden- 
tongued bells at Christmas time. It is at 
Christmas time that I also find the thorns on 
the roses of remembrance pressing down on 
my heart and leaving me with that unnam- 
able, poignant loneliness; and perhaps this is 
why I want to talk with you here, by the side 
of the road. 
I want Christmas to come, and you like to 

20 



have Christmas come. But we both like to 
have it go. 

The warm grate cheers my cold body; the 
cold spring waters of earth allay my thirst; 
the food that is given me satisfies my hunger ; 
but there is an empty chair in the home, back 
there, that the world and its wealth cannot 
fill. And it is said that this unnamable lone- 
liness is the price we pay for once having with 
us that wonderful woman — mother. 
I might strike here every note on the key- 
board of life, but it was not my purpose, when 
we sat down here, by the side of the road, to 
wound you. My object is to make you happy. 
God loans to man a fragment from the 
quarry of time, a handful of days, the inter- 
lude of a short life; but Christmas is the only 
day that brings before the mind the real gray- 
ness of it all — the one time when the mem- 
ory of the irreparable loss of the unforgotten 
dead — a saintly mother, a loyal wife, a prom- 
ising son, a devoted daughter — is as a spear- 
thrust that wellnigh stops the heart's pul- 
sations. 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 




21 



On the trail, I find it a good plan to step 
out of my way to hold a lantern, to help 
look for a lost horseshoe, to be of some 
service to a stranger. 
I never go so far away from home that 
I don't have to come back, and then the 
conditions are reversed. My horse has 
been known to throw a shoe, my tire oc- 
casionally gets punctured. 
It's a long road that doesn't lead back. 
I would do a favor for a man if for no 
other than a selfish reason. 



CREDIT 



Efficiency is anything that gets good re- 
sults. Efficiency is not paralysis, apo- 
plexy, palsy. It is health, happiness, 
work. 

The rudderless, water-logged derelicts 
that float about the town nights unnerve 
and unman themselves — leave their effi- 
ciency where they leave their money. 
To get and hold business today is to dis- 
play mental, moral and physical power — 
a fairly good definition of "efficiency." 




I would rather see a man's savings-bank book 
than read his certificate of character. The cer- 
tificate can give him more credit than he de- 
serves, but the bank — never! 

I HERE is no great secret about 
making a success in life so far 
as money is concerned. The 
secret lies in getting started 
early — practicing thrift from 
the beginning, supplementing 
this habit with the faculty for capitalizing the 
great moment of opportunity when it comes 
along, and then working like all get out. 
We often hear a fellow say what he would 
do if he were only rich. His very inclina- 
tion to spend money is the very thing that 
is holding him back. 

Most persons will be surprised to learn that 
wealthy men keep a sharp lookout on their 
personal expenses — a closer watch than do 
men of more moderate means. This prac- 
tice gives the man of money a review each 
day of the very scheme of life that made him 
successful. It keeps him in constant touch 

25 



By with the very forces that contributed to his 

the progress. It strengthens the basic habit of 

S^'^e thrift. 

lR.oa<^ Often it is necessary for a business man to 
borrow money to carry on an enterprise, 
but borrowing for such a purpose is far dif- 
ferent from borrowing to keep up appear- 
ances. One is an essential, the other is ex- 
travagance. It is the duty of every one to 
live within his income — to live sufficiently 
frugally to enable him gradually to accumulate 
a small reserve fund. There are few men who 
cannot do this if they will; and no one will 
deny that the small savings that represent self- 
denial are the pillars of personal prosperity. 
Debt is anxiety, misery. It's a curse. Debt 
is slavery. It makes you doubt yourself, par- 
ticularly when your thralldom is the result of 
your own extravagant acts. 
Debt is a dragon, a demon, a devil. It in- 
cites honest men to do dishonest things. 
Credit is man's one great asset. He can 
move it without cost, and at will. Credit can 
be carried in the vest pocket from one coun- 
try to another, without duty, or left at home, 
without cost or rent or insurance. Credit 
can be transmitted to posterity without being 
subject to an inheritance tax. Credit can be 
transferred to help another fellow, without 
formality or without show. Thieves cannot 
26 



steal credit. Fires and flood cannot destroy By 
it. It is the most permanent form of wealth, th^ 
and can be lost in a moment. Credit is more "^'^^ 
than cash on hand: it is character. 



o{ the 
Road 




27 



Who would destroy the belief of a 
mother? Who would challenge the truth 
of a religion? Who would believe that 
life is but a bubble; that we are here for 
a moment, and then vanish into nothing- 
ness? Who would be inappreciative of 
the unapproachable glory of the heavens, 
the boundless beauties of nature? Who 
would suppress human hopes, that leap 
like angels from the human heart? Who 
would, in the absence of a better book, 
question the spiritual supremacy of the 
Bible? 



LET'S GO BACK 



Pessimists are either disappointed in love, 
disappointed in marriage or disappointed 
with themselves. 



Yes! This is genuine grief, for even the sacred 
mound seems to speak. 




JET'S go back, you and I, over 
the trail of years and review 
the scenes of our boyhood 
days. Let's go down the hill 
to the old spring, and lean 
over the cold rocks, and 
quench our thirst of memory — back where 
fond recollections present the meadow, the 
orchard and the deep-tangled wildwood. 
Let's go into the old "living-room" of the 
tumble-down home of the Long Ago. In im- 
agination let's bring Mother back again, and 
have her here — back from the deep, long 
silence. Let's have her rock us to sleep again. 
" Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your 
flight; make me a child again just for to- 
night." 

In the purple glory of our well-filled lives, 
let you and I have a little talk with Mother 
once again. How willingly we would trade 
the emptiness of enterprise, our mockery of 

31 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



money, for the privilege of a little talk with 
Mother again. 

When the fretful gestures of life drew near, 
when a deep sorrow cast its shadow across the 
path of my dear old mother, how well I re- 
member her ways of finding consolation! 
And often, in my wicked moments, my mem- 
ory flies to the peace that does not depend 
on the approval of the world — a peace that 
I cannot impart to you. 

Now take one searching backward look at 
that old wood-colored cottage, and then come 
with me to a low-sunk grave — the grave of 
the dearest soul that ever lived — your 
mother. Here she lies so lonely. 
Stand here, my man, until the echoes of her 
voice seem to return. They are sermons no 
tongue can teach, sentiments no heart can 
reach. 




32 



KNOW THYSELF 



The salesman is the man who sells. Any 
other definition o£ a salesman is coim- 
terfeit. Some men on the road earn a 
reputation, but not for selling. Some 
traveling men insist on telling you of 
their personal pedigree; but these men 
are peddlers, not salesmen. 
The business barometer of some sales- 
men is influenced by the atmosphere of 
the night before. 

Other salesmen are such poor judges of 
distance that they will travel right past 
a good town, to find that beauty is only 
skin deep. 

Sitting in the hotel lobby at night, and 
talking long and loud, burning up big 
black cigars, and a lot of energy, pump- 
ing hot air into a crowd of loafers that 
are already punctured, will never get you 
an order in a hundred years. 
The real salesman is the quiet, mild-man- 
nered man who slips in, sells you, and 
then slips out. He does not deceive you, 
but he compels you, by his conscientious 
purpose, to like him. And when you like 
a salesman you are not averse to trading 
with him, and if this salesman slips in and 
sells you again, you need have no doubts 
that you have met a salesman. 




Don't take the author of any book too seri- 
ously. Take yourself out on the woodpile and 
whittle away on thiese two words — the wisest 
words ever uttered: "Know thyself." 



)HE fear of things, the fright at 
people, the loss of self-confi- 
dence, are binding many a 
man hand and foot. There 
are books, blue-prints, charts, 
wise and otherwise authors 
who are in possession of the secrets that put 
" backbone " in men after they are born. But 
all of these inconsistent ideas have always 
seemed to me like cast-iron rules — easy to 
break. 

My suggestion is to read inspirational writ- 
ings, rather than adopt the plans of inspired 
authors. Use your head and not their " how.'* 
Every man knows enough when he thinks of 
it. The trouble is, he doesn't always think 
of it. This book will try to help you think of 
it. 

The rhinoceros is a genus of the undulate 
mammals, and his thick rind has nothing on 

35 



By the genus of the man-family who would teach 
*^,^ the world the only way. 

Vf^the ""^^ *^® ^^^® °^ *^® Road" is to intensify 
„ your individual interest in success — merely 

to point in the direction of achievement. The 
book will not try to make a poor minister out 
of a natural-born plumber. It will not tell 
you of the one way, for that way may be 
closed for repairs, and a sign up : " Detour." 
You have health, common sense and the op- 
portunity, for you live in America. All of 
the straight-edged advice this side of Hillshole 
will never get you going right unless you work 
it out yourself and in your own way. 
The author of a good book may help you, 
the editor of a well-thought-out magazine may 
suggest ideas that will start up your think- 
tank ; but to know yourself is your knowledge, 
and not the author's, and this is probably the 
only knowledge you will be able to apply suc- 
cessfully. 

Given two words in which to convey to the 
world my most sincere, and perhaps my most 
practical suggestion for success, and these 
words would be my choice : " Know thyself." 
Given a second choice for a suggestion on in- 
dividual success, and these are the two words 
I would employ: " Help thyself." 



36 



THRIFT 



Give a man character, and he will win 
moral confidence. 

Loan him courage, and he will command 
commercial credit. 

Give him energy, and enterprises will call 
for him. 

Grant him perseverance, and trade will 
come to him. 

Add to these essentials initiative, and you 
distinguish the man from a machine — 
from most men. 

There are three classes of workers: 
One class must always be told, then 
shown, and then told again. The second 
class expect to be told once at least. 
The third class have initiative. They go 
ahead and do the right thing at the right 
time without being told, and this is initia- 
tive. 

Every organization has plenty of indi- 
viduals who are morally and physically 
competent. 

Initiative is a mental factor in success. 
We are all paid for our proficiency by 
the individual with initiative. 




The Temple of Thrift should stand on the 
campus at the left of the college and at the 
right of the chapel. 

|N my desk lies a line-drawing 
— a picture of a provident 
man descending the stone 
steps of a savings bank. Evi- 
dently this man is of middle 
age, of moderate means, 
healthy and honest. His head is erect, his 
shoulders square, and his general appearance 
indicates individual worth. The suggestion 
in this picture is that this man has just left a 
certain sum in the savings bank. 
At the foot of the stone steps, and in the 
shelter of the great granite pillar, stands a 
cringing, half-clad, pitifully poor man. His 
eyes stare, his face is haggard, and he looks 
cold and hungry. Poverty has snuffed out 
every spark of success in this man, and made 
him desperate. He is a rudderless, hopeless, 
helpless derelict. 

And the interesting part of this situation is 
that both men started out in early life with 

39 



By equal advantages; both men came from the 

the same little town. 

Side One began to save, and the other began to 

o *5^ spend. Both, for a time, earned the same 
salary. 

Finally the spender was compelled to dodge 
the tailor, the grocer and the butcher. Event- 
ually this man began to lose self-confidence, 
later he lost his pride, and then he lost his 
position. 

How he spent his money or where he spent 
it is not my point. He spent it, and that is 
enough. 

The other man continually saved a little, and 
then a little more ; and finally this habit of sav- 
ing was permanently formed. Eventually this 
man placed a little money out at interest, and 
his money began to work for him. At last 
the man with the saving habit got what we 
call " comfortably off." 

Now, friend reader, there is nothing sensa- 
tional, nothing unreasonable, nothing uncom- 
mon in a man getting " comfortably off." 
Nor is there anything uncommon in a man 
going broke. 

This picture is not overdrawn. It is not nec- 
essary to overdraw a picture of this char- 
acter. 

There are millions of men — clever men — 
who are mentally unfit, physically unclean, 
40 



and morally out of position, due to improvi- By 
dence. **.« 

Money is the measure of food, of clothing, i . 
of the necessities of life; and the man who j^^^^ 
fails to look out for tomorrow is dishonest 
with himself, unfair to his family, and will 
eventually fail. 

Saving is more than saving: it more often 
proves a saving grace. 

Too much money, or too little money, is a 
sorry situation, that can only be successfully 
met by sensible men. 

Give the average young man plenty of money 
to start with and you handicap him. Give 
a young man with ambition an opportu- 
nity, and then teach him to save money, and 
you have laid the foundation for a permanent 
success. 

Success all depends on how you start. If 
you begin at the bottom and build on your 
profit, on what you save, you are creating a 
combination of character, capital and com- 
mercial worth that is of tremendous impor- 
tance. 

If you begin at the top of the ladder, with- 
out experience, but with plenty of inherited 
capital, make up your mind that sooner or 
later you will see the box where they mix the 
mortar. 

Personal extravagance has encompassed more 

41 



^ defeats than anything I know of. Prudence 

the points the way to prosperity. 

Side The improvident, careless, reckless, thought- 

o/ the less man is a personal failure, and a tax on 

^oac? others. 

Show me the man with the " saving " habit, 
and I will point to you an honest man. 
If the night courts and the day courts are 
crowded with men charged with all the crimes 
on the calendar, and if nine men out of ten 
in these courts are poverty-poor, broken in 
pocketbook, broken in spirit, what does this 
situation suggest? 

Men are naturally honest. It is the spur of 
old Necessity, the poverty-prod of Want, that 
prompts men to take chances. Want and 
Necessity are not the natural offspring of 
habits of saving. 

Poverty lashes a man to the wild horse of 
Don't-Care. Want whispers in the ear of a 
weakling and tells him to take a chance. 
Money in the savings bank gives a man credit 
in a community — self-confidence. 
Ownership multiplies the ambition for more. 
Poverty paralyzes purpose. I am invariably 
stronger with, than without, money. 
The individual in an organization who is for- 
ever borrowing money is constantly exhibit- 
ing a lack of that something which made the 
boss a success. 
42 



The mind cannot work well fearing failure £y 

or seeing sickness and the dreaded doctor's the 

bill. The mind, to do its best work, must Side 

be free from fretting and the frenzied attacks ^^ *^® 

of want. ^°^^ 

Take two men. Give them both an equal 

chance. Have one save money each week. 

Have the other spend all that he earns, and 

perhaps more. Which man will produce the 

better results? 

The man who saves a little money each week 

also saves his energy. He comes to the store, 

to the plant, or goes out on the road, with his 

mind right and his body right. 

The man who is compelled to rob a child's 

bank for car fare is committing no crime, but 

he is skating mighty close to a bad habit — 

robbing a bank. 

Men are creatures of habit. They contract 

certain customs. They are apt to follow the 

line of least resistance, and to get in a groove, 

a rut. They keep on in the old jog-trot way 

yntil they get seasoned to failure. 



43 



The average parent gives a child a dime 
to spend and not to save. The child- 
mind accepts the money as a means o£ 
acquiring something to satisfy appetite 
or desire — toys or candy. 
Generously, lovingly, and with the best 
intentions in the world, the parents face 
the child's mind in the wrong direction. 
The indulgent father and the loving 
mother furnish funds to satisfy an ever- 
increasing idea of wanting more and 
more expensive toys, more luxuries. 
Finally the child grows into manhood or 
into womanhood, and the habit of spend- 
ing, not of saving, grows correspond- 
ingly. Let me ask you in perfectly plain 
English, Who is to blame? 



TO FORGET 



The penalty that leadership and owner- 
ship exact is self-control and abstinence. 
The man who would succeed today must 
make up his mind to go through the most 
grilling kind of game. Competition of 
the modern type knows no quarter. 




What a blessing it is to be able to forget! 

IFTER all, the loftiest interpre- 
tation of life is to live in the 
truest way. The residue of 
all the wisdom furnished by 
the world; the dead-weight of 
all the years that are gone; 
the experience that seems so sure of its knowl- 
edge; the practical things in life that suggest 
such ingenious ideas for almost indefinite ends 
in success — all these things bring us back to 
the one great idea of being true to ourselves. 
And when we are true to ourselves, we find 
a wealth of meaning in what Shakespeare 
said: "This above all: To thine own self 
be true, and it must follow, as the night the 
day, thou canst not then be false to any man." 
To my mind, the saddest spectacle is the 
man who is soured on the world. This get- 
back, get-even man will change the points of 
compass in an entire organization. 
When a man sours on the world he is gone. 
He may have ever so much energy, a world 
of experience, good judgment — all this; but 

47 



By 

the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



he will fail just as surely as Adam ate the 
lemon. 

He is unfitted mentally to meet and to beat 
a situation. 

In this boundless night, where we poor be- 
ings move, grope about in darkness and lose 
our way, there is little excuse for harboring 
this spirit of revenge, of vindictiveness. 
We all make mistakes, and it's a big man who 
can overlook them. 

Few of us have any reason to strengthen our 
means of defense — this get-even spirit. All 
men seem to be able to look out for them- 
selves as against others, and get back. But 
when this dull-finished picture of get-back re- 
venge hangs too long before our eyes, we get 
warped as men. 




48 



THE OPTIMIST 



Men become better by contemplating 
what is better. Reading of failure, listen- 
ing to the details of a horrible crime, 
associating with morbid minds, will not 
help you. 

No man can find inspiration, encourage- 
ment, while working in a sewer. All men 
can climb more vigorously when in a 
pure atmosphere — when surrounded by 
fields, woods, big men, and clean litera- 
ture. 



You despise, you distrust, you dislike the pes- 
simist; and here lies the great danger. 




lEBSTER defines optimism as 
" the doctrine that everything 
is ordered for the best." 

Optimism is the old oracle 
who, according to the philoso- 
phy of the ancients, is sup- 
posed to give you the spoken word which 
commands success. 

When a man tells you he is an optimist, be- 
lieve him. He cannot offer better evidence 
of his lack of common sense. 
An optimist is a wise old owl that sees only 
while the normal man sleeps. His golden 
dreams, his aero hopes, transport him so far 
from the world of actuality that he is sure 
to have a rude awakening in the fools' para- 
dise. 

We have all paid for the optimistic partner, 
the optimistic stock seller. We have all given 
our confidence to the optimist who thinks he 
sees the gleam, the glitter, the colors in the 

51 



By slender trail of sand that follow the crimp in 

* .^ the prospector's pan. 

of the '^^^ optimist unhorsed is at best an unbusted 

Road broncho. 

The optimist is the biggest pile of smoke 
that comes out of the stack of business suc- 
cess. He is the result of a fire — the result. 
He sees success in everything. You like him, 
and here lies the danger. You trust him. 
You side-step the unpleasant, murky mor- 
tal, the pessimist, for the man who is wrong 
in the head. Your sentiment crosses wires 
with your common sense, and you pay the 
penalty when the power goes off and your 
lights go out — when success is stalled. 
The grouch, the fellow with cold feet, never 
has, nor ever will have, much. He has no 
influence on my mind. He is just a live dead 
one. 

It's this wild-eyed optimist who grabs for a 
straw and feels he has caught a St. Croix 
River raft of white pine — it's this buoyant 
boob who has always fooled me. This flushed- 
up, easily excited, exultant, optimistic out- 
fielder will strut in front of the grand-stand 
before the game and then in the ninth inning 
miss the great chance. 

After all, optimism is founded on the belief 
that "everything is ordered for the best," 
and this is the belief of the fatalist. 
52 



So you see, according to Webster, we have By 
not always used this word in its proper place. *A_e 
Between the optimist, who feels that he is J . 
sailing in the safe channel, and the pessimist, HQ^fi 
who refuses to row — I say, between these 
two extremes in human nature we have the 
normal man. 




53 



Pale hands stole over the ivory keys; — 
a heart was heavy, and ill at ease. When 
a chord was struck of souls forgiven, a 
light burst through the gates of heaven. 



HIS MOTHER 



Self-respect demands that a man make 
money. Modern life calls for a lot of 
cash on hand, for what can a man do 
when but a day's march ahead of actual 
want? 

The lack of credit, which implies the lack 
of cash, is the crushing-out process of de- 
sire to do. 

With money, man has multiplied oppor- 
tunities to make of himself and to help all 
humanity True, money has made men 
make mistakes, but the want of it has 
caused most all of the crimes. 




This particular article has been widely circu- 
lated. It first appeared in "The Silent Part- 
ner" for February, 1916. 

|ACH of us holds in sacred re- 
membrance a glorious mother. 
Some of us are compelled to 
listen for the echo and the 
reecho of her call — -listen 
through the corridor of years 
for her sweet voice. 

What a wonderful woman my mother was! 
Her silvery voice was a song in my soul, and 
her prayers a string of pearls. 
When God opened the gates of heaven and 
gave to the world my mother, it was His 
greatest agency for my good in after years. 
How well we remember this wonderful woman 
who hallowed our boyhood home ! 
Mother is the one, and the only one, who 
can divide her love with ten little children, 
and each child will still have all of her love. 
Can you describe such love? 
Brothers and sisters may become inveterate 
enemies, man and wife estranged ; father may 
turn his back on the boy; but mother's love 

57 



By endures in face of the world's condemnation. 

the Mother's love is that indescribable some- 

^f^^h *^^^S that tugs at your heart when all other 

^Road^ influences fail. 

Quite recently I sent "The Silent Partner 
Scrap-book " to Mrs. Ann E. Whipple of Pitts- 
burgh — his mother. I received soon after 
an acknowledgment which I consider remark- 
able — remarkable for its fine diction, its lofty 
appreciation of my intended tribute to a grand 
old mother. 

The letter is beautiful in style and senti- 
ment, and all too sacred for me to risk chang- 
ing or leaving out a line. For this excellent 
and almost reverent reason I beg my readers 
to pardon the reprinting of any part that might 
seem praise for my pen. The grand old grand- 
mother did not mean praise ; it's a prayer : 

** My dear Mr. Van Amburgh : 
" I feel that I need no introduction to you. 
You have heard of me through my son, and 
I know of you through him, but especially 
through my perception of your character and 
personality as reflected in your splendid Es- 
says, which, while appealing to the under- 
standing, grip one's emotional nature with 
such charm and force. 

*' In acknowledging your many complimentary 
references to me in the correspondence be- 
tween you and my son, and especially in ac- 
58 



knowledging the autographed copy of the By 
beautiful book, I am not unmindful that my the 
personality figures only indirectly; that the Side 
compliment is primarily to my son and to Old of the 
Age, Womanhood and Motherhood, and for Road 
this reason I am doubly appreciative. 
" Even a small soul can apply its regard to 
an appreciative friend or acquaintance, but 
only big souls grasp the ideals as applying to 
Motherhood in the abstract. 
" Mr. Van Amburgh, you have been endowed 
with the talent and spiritual force to do a no- 
ble and greatly needed work, and you are do- 
ing it in a most effective manner. 
" May our dear Father continue to enrich your 
soul, and commission you to do His work for 
many more years! 

" I am a very old woman — past fourscore 
years ; but my heart is still young, and my in- 
terest in life and friends still active. 
" I understand that you sometimes visit Pitts- 
burgh, and if your business is not too pressing, 
when you next come this way, we trust you 
may find rest and relaxation by honoring us 
in making our home your home while in our 
midst." 

After a long and beautiful life, and while sit- 
ting in the sunshine, sweet and calm, at the 
age of eighty-odd, a dear old mother proves 
her continuing " interest in life and friends " 
by inditing the above epistolary classic; and 

59 



By to be the recipient of such an appreciative pen- 

the written letter is not to have lived and worked 

Side in vain. 

^ ^ ^ And now let us send this message on an end- 
° less errand to all men. 

I doubt if the angels in heaven take much in- 
terest in the flattering epitaphs of tombstones, 
but I do know that the work-knotted hands, 
the faded old lips, the silver hair make the 
handsomest picture on earth. 
You, friend reader, are a member of some 
organization, perhaps some store, some place 
of business ; and I would suggest that you go 
home tonight and bring down from the attic 
the old armchair that knew the lullabies of 
your baby days. 

Go find this throne and place your dear old 
mother in it as queen. 

Go put your big, strong arms about her 
shrunken shoulders and kiss her till the bells 
in your soul improvise some matchless hymn 
of devotion that only a love for mother can 
inspire. 

Do this for me, and when the silent cortege 
bears her sacred dust to the grave, there will 
be a new sense of fellowship for other men, 
a higher and nobler appreciation of all women. 



60 



ENTHUSIASM AND EXPERIENCE 



Brain service can be bought. Lip serv- 
ice can be hired. Physical service can be 
contracted for. But heart service is the 
kind you get when you pay in the coin 
of appreciation, kindness and considera- 
tion. 

Service is the true basis of all good 
business, and until you get the heart- 
throbs of your organization working with 
you and not just for you, you lack one 
element that is of more importance than 
you perhaps think. 




As long as you regard employment as work, 
just so long will you continue to work. 



|F my life depended on giving a 
practical, successful answer to 
this question: "What is the 
chief cause of most failures? " 
my answer would be this: 
The lack of enthusiasm and of 
intelligent work. 

Many men work harder on their schemes to 
get out of work than they do on their plans 
to get through with their work. 
Until you are so filled with the enthusiasm 
of wanting to accomplish some one thing 
above all other things, you will regard any 
effort in business as work. 
Work is what is paid for by the hour. It may 
be a machine, a man, or a mule. 
Enthusiastic effort is what produces more 
than the average person expects to pay for. 
It is the man who uses his present job as 
a medium for securing a better position who 
calls work " singing." 

63 



By The only way you can get up is to wake up, 

the jand then work up. 

^i^^h ^y advice to you is to accept your present 

p f pay as a help to get higher. If your pay is 
° small, do not whine or kick. Resolve to 
work out of the unsatisfactory position which 
you occupy. You cannot kick yourself out. 
I believe the biggest single idea in individ- 
ual success or in industry is the one word 
"work." Any other idea will not work un- 
less you work. 

Craft, skill, expertness, are all the tin stars 
that are pinned on you after you pass a cer- 
tain mark, and they are all essential emblems 
of energy that a man must wear to prove to 
some people that he has, in the past, been will- 
ing to work. 

Education is the pasteboard that will admit 
you to the game. Work is the rain-check 
that will allow you to come back on the 
grounds after the storm. 
Every day dozens of young men write me 
and ask me how to win, and I take each let- 
ter and write across it in red ink and in a bold 
hand this one word : " Work." At first they 
are disappointed, and finally they understand. 



64 



OUT WEST 



Hang a mirror near the door where they 
come in in the morning. Hang it so that 
each and every member of the organiza- 
tion will get a good look at himself or 
herself before entering his or her respec- 
tive department. 

Then put in a conspicuous place this 
sign, " Smile ! " 

It is a pretty mean man, it is anything 
but a pretty woman, who will not smile 
at himself or herself — smile back in the 
mirror. 

After your face is cracked, after the cor- 
ners of your mouth curve up, things seem 
to go better. Always remember that 
folks meet you as you greet them. 




Down deep in my heart is an affection that 
flows in its alpine torrents back to dear old 
Colorado, where the rainbow never fades. 

I HE tongue has tried to de- 
scribe, the pen has tried to de- 
pict, the brush has tried to 
portray the wondrous West 
— the out-in-the-open empire 
where they rear matchless 
men. Out in this young world, the steed of 
steel has opened up new trails to the greatest 
opportunities offered in the whole world. 
This West is the excuse for American adjec- 
tives. The worth-while things that you ex- 
pect out West are all there — plus a lot more. 
Humans are big, bronzed Kohinoors. Op- 
portunities knock. People boost. The tide 
is with you in the West. 

From what corner do we hear the cry of the 
humans that are hungry and hurt? 
The seven seas show the waterway to all 
the world, but it was our phantom ships of 
the pioneer days, adrift in the grass-grown 
trails, that made these latter-day ocean boats 
possible. 

67 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



It is our West that has made our East. 
We are told and retold the stories about 
the fathers and mothers and maidens of the 
** Mayflower " ; but who has pictured the land- 
launched schooner 'mid the mayflowers of the 
West, moving so slowly toward hushed foot- 
hills, creeping into hidden valleys? 
Look at that ribbed roof of canvas that cov- 
ered what the pioneer called home. See un- 
der the seat a plow, a sickle and a bag of seed. 
Look at the young wife with the babe at her 
breast. See the book and the gun. Think 
of the perils of a wild, unknown trail, and 
then ask yourself this question, Would the de- 
scendants of such supermen, such wonderful 
women, be worth while? 
These hopeful souls are holding. up two hun- 
gry hemispheres with their harvests. For 
their readiness to forget the wormwood of 
yesterday, for their doing things today, for 
their dreams ahead, we owe our eminent po- 
sition of international importance. 




68 



SLEEP 



In moments of solitude we frequently 
hold a reverie-review. We mentally go 
over each link in the chain of friendship, 
and how it helps! 




Men who do not sleep nights dream days. 

I EARS ago they were wont to 
say that the apportionment of 
six hours' sleep to a man, 
seven hours' sleep to a woman 
and eight hours' sleep to a fool 
was about right. 
There can be no set rules for regulating 
sleep. The amount of sleep you require de- 
pends on the kind of work you have to do. 
There is one thing, sure, however: If you 
fail to sleep enough you will fail to work 
enough. 

If there is a hell on earth it's located in a 
sleepless chamber. If there is a bottomless 
pit of punishment this side of the river Styx, 
it's insomnia. If you want to see the fallen 
angels, watch the ghostlike figures as they 
dance before your tortured mind at midnight. 
Mephistopheles, Moloch, Shedim, Titan, had 
nothing on the ghoul that invented insomnia. 
Of all the dim, dark, unknown alleys; of all 
the haunted, hated halls on earth, it's the bed- 
room filled with the bugs of wakefulness. 

71 



By Sleep ! — the only sedative man takes for suc- 

*A.e cess. 
f th ^^'^ what is success? It is the answer to 

Road some superior way. I am speaking now of 
permanent success. There is no other suc- 
cess. 

The world is crowded with able men, ambi- 
tious humans, who are exercising every fac- 
ulty, exerting all their efficiency, to step ahead 
of you. And here is the personal applica- 
tion: Do you sleep enough? Of course you 
don't. 

Do you come to the store, the plant, the office, 
in the morning feeling fine, or do you drag in 
with an excuse on your tongue? 
Believe me, my boy, the spirits of the wise 
look down out of the night sky and smile at 
you when you try to cheat nature. 
What you need, young man, more than all 
else, is sleep. Your success must come 
through your mental efforts ; and a few hours 
of absolute forgetfulness, and you will bring 
to the office the next day a quality of brains 
and a quantity of energy that the boss is will- 
ing to pay more for. 
Wake up! 



72 



MOTHER 



It was not what your mother said in her 
prayer at parting. It is not the grace of 
the language in her old letters. It is the 
affectionate response in your own heart 
that often makes you a man when all 
other influences fail. 




Did you steal away from your friends in the 
night and go to her grave? 

)ID you go back during the 
summer to the little old town 
where you lived when a boy? 
And did you softly open the 
old iron gate and wend your 
way to the mound of your 
mother's grave? 

Did you sit by this grave so dear, so far 
from the false parade? 

Did the soft summer breezes sing through the 
lone pine a sad requiem? 
And as you quietly closed the old iron gate 
again, did your hand cling to the rusty latch 
while you tried to see through tears — tears 
from a heart that had older grown; tears that 
told of emotions that tugged at your very 
soul? 

The most beautifully imagined, the most ex- 
quisitely expressed sentiment — nothing that 
I can conceive can compare with the memory 
of my mother's motionless marble hands — 
hands that once held my heart in their hol- 

75 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



low; hands that once bathed my fevered brow; 
hands that sent hope to me when all else had 
fled; hands that pointed to heaven while she 
prayed so earnestly, so devoutly for me when 
I needed more than earth's mercy. 
Mothers never die. They live in our mem- 
ory while they rest under the violet mound. 




76 



CARELESSNESS 



The man who lives in the wilderness 
without friends has a conscience that is 
as clear as mud, has habits that are as 
pure as those of a polecat. To him, 
friends are but a galaxy of " good things " 
to "work." 




Careless people seldom have anything to give 
to make good for their brainsick mistakes; so 
you see how explosive, how expensive, they are. 

I HE careless, want-of-thought 
individual, the heedless hu- 
man, is the known unknown 
quantity in the organization. 
The non-observer, the dull 
disregarder, the inconsiderate 
member of the Muddle Club, the chairman o£ 
the Careless Committee, costs a corporation 
his mistakes and the mistakes he causes others 
to make. And then, see the room he takes 
up. 

These preoccupied, brown-study, deep-mus- 
ing men are always doing something to upset 
success. In one year these careless, unre- 
liable misprints cost this country three hun- 
dred million dollars and no telling how many 
lives — more lives than the wars of the world, 
up to date. 

These respectless, listless, hairbrained boobs 
bring sickness, death and degradation. They 
take everything and give nothing in their 
costly scheme of carelessness. 

79 



j5y Careless people are always napping at noon, 
the and the worst of it all is, their eyes are open, 
Side and somehow you expect them to keep away 
of the from the buzz-saw. 

They will gloss over and putty up thoughts 
to fool you. They blink and wink at work. 
The careless loom up on locomotives and 
on ledgers. They are found in factories and 
supported in stores. 

The trance, the coma that steals over the 
careless proves a plague in the midst of pros- 
perity. 

You can watch the dishonest, guide the ig- 
norant, coax or drive the lazy; but the care- 
less man is the lukewarm loon that looks like 
a man, walks like a man, but he " ain't." 
Every organization has the individual who 
" didn't mean to do it "— has the slob who 
" didn't think," and says so after he costs the 
company a lot of money, and perhaps a life 
or two. 

Carelessness is a crime. Caution is a vir- 
tue that will find its reward in greater re- 
sponsibility and more pay. 




FEAR 



The vegetarian's idea of platonic affection 
is the cabbage growing old gracefully by 
the side of a cucumber vine and never 
once letting his clinging neighbor turn 
his head. 




The common enemy of us all is worry. Most 
persons are alive with the microbes of fear and 
worry. 

I EAR kills. It more than kills: 
it leaves the ghost of a man 
here to get in the way of oth- 
ers — frighten others. 
Fear has killed thousands of 
men, tormented more millions, 
burned alive countless numbers. Fear dead- 
ens your will, squanders all possible success, 
cramps you into a coffin here on earth-— 
makes a mummy of a man. Fear upsets your 
reason, breaks the contact in business. 
Years ago man failed to understand so many 
things. Years ago man saw in the wind, the 
wave, the thunder, the earthquake, an enemy. 
Literature taught men to fear; governments 
compelled men to fear; and religions hinged 
the hope of heaven on fear. 
Fear can wreck a business or ruin a name. 
It is the thief that lurks in a man's conscience. 
It is the most destructive contagion, and more 
prevalent than most of us think. 
What have you to fear? You can do what 

83 



By millions of other men have done, and perhaps 

^^^ more; but you will never do this until you 

of the *^^°"^ ^^^^ overboard. You're a much bigger 

Road "^^'^ than you think you are, and for the proof 

of this statement start out now, forget your 

fear instincts and work for all you're worth. 

You will win. 

The cruel furrows in your face, the gray 
hairs, the uncertain hand, the slow step, the 
things that seem to hold you back, are all the 
results of the things you have worried over. 
And few of the things that you have worried 
over have ever actually arrived. 
We would all be happier and healthier if we 
could but rid ourselves of these mental and 
physical pains that we bring about by expect- 
ing trouble. 

These phantom monsters of worry, these 
harassing and haunting ghosts that disappear 
when we confidently tackle them, these perse- 
cuting parasites, have linked more lives with 
failure than we think. 

Solicitude, care, anxiety, interest, are sources 
of much concern; but I refer to the reign of 
terror — worry. It is the nightmare at noon 
and the misery at midnight. 
Most men let this disease put them in pur- 
gatory. They get lost and stranded over 
something that cannot come true. The vexa- 
tious plague that we look for, the aggravating, 
84 



Side 
of the 
Road 



irritating things we expect, seldom show up. By 
It is the unexpected that puts a lump over our the 
left eye. 

All the repellent, repulsive, abhorrent, hide- 
ous things that have cast their shadows over 
my path I have found, when they were over- 
taken, or when passed by, to be harmless old 
hulks, big black stumps, or some human cow- 
ard who would slink in a muskrat hole at the 
first shot. 




85 



Loyalty is deference to discipline, devo- 
tion to organization, allegiance to asso- 
ciates. Disloyalty is rebellion, revolt, 
mutiny, treason. 

Loyalty makes a man a superman. He 
can do the kind of work that counts. 
Loyalty to the foreman does not mean 
playing second fiddle. It proves that you 
can be a leader when the leader is sick. 
Some violin! 

The impatient, insubordinate individual is 
of no value anywhere, at any time. 



STOP FOOLING YOURSELF 



Sentiment is the summit of an ideal life. 
When we do not look for reward in an- 
other world, sentiment means more than 
all else. 




Do you want help? If you do, the best way 
to get it is to help yourself. 

[TOP fooling yourself, for you 
are the only one who is being 
fooled. The fool who fools 
himself thinks he is fooling 
others. If you are a failure, if 
you are not on the right track, 
not making good, remember, a bluff will not 
make up for your lack of efficiency, for your 
failure to get results. 

Do not try to veneer, polish, or cover up 
your faults. Drag them all out before you, 
and come to a full stop— -to a realization of 
what a dismal, complete failure you are. And 
when you do this, you are at the bottom. You 
cannot fall any lower. 

And when you get your feet on the bottom, 
start climbing. But be sure you hit bottom 
before you start. 

This talk between men of great friendship 
in business, this "con" conversation about 
what each would like to do for the other, is 
a S3niipathy session, — convened at an hour 

89 



of the 
Road 



By when the heart is weak, when each is feeling 

the sorry for the other. 

^{^^, And there is no time in the world when two 
men need a bigger boost (with a boot) than 
when they sit down to sympathize with 
each other. 

These trouble-telling sessions usually have 
for their impelling motive the desire to get 
out of the other fellow that which a person 
does not expect to give. 
It is building a fire of hope under a boiler that 
has a lot of leaky flues. 

The moral maxim of La Rochefoucauld as- 
serts that friendship is an exchange of good 
offices; it is a species of commerce out of 
which self-love always expects to gain some- 
thing. 

Now, do not mistake my meaning. I have 
friends, and I value them; but when I want 
help I start out with a full determination to 
help myself ; and the result is, my friends turn 
in and help me. Whenever I lean over on 
some fellow and look to him to do something 
for me, I fall as flat as a pancake. Why 
should friends be expected to help those who 
will not help themselves? 
You are in your present position because it 
is where you belong. No, don't expect an 
invalid aunt to make a success of you. The 
money that is left you will handicap you, 
90 



and not help you. If you can't make money By 
yourself, you certainly can't keep money that ^^.^ 
other people have made. This is a horse- "^J^f^ 
medicine dose, but take it; it's good for you. /^o^^ 
The biggest job you have on hand is — 
you. If you can say " I've lost," and con- 
tinue to grin; if you have plenty of enthusiasm, 
integrity, determination, a good appearance, 
and a special knowledge of your business, have 
no fear of future results. 
If your clothes are shabby and your linen 
soiled, remember that the world should not 
judge you by the clothes you wear, but that 
it almost always does. If what you have to 
say on a subject is no better than silence, 
be silent. The fact that you are little known 
is comparatively unimportant; the important 
fact is, are you worth knowing? If you are 
looking to be slighted, you will find plenty 
of chances to be miserable. 
If you look at the woods, at the stars, at 
the ocean, and fail to understand, just trust 
the Creator for the balance of your knowl- 
edge. 

Sit down alone, old chap, old top, old friend, 
and analyze yourself. I take this medicine 
myself. Find out your own faults. Be criti- 
cal, be harsh, with yourself. Ask yourself 
these questions: Am I lazy? Do I drink to 
excess? Am I too extravagant? Have I an 

91 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



expensive, explosive temper? What in the 
world is the matter with me, anyway? 
Now, don't try to gloss over your faults, 
but show them up; be square with yourself. 
This self-analysis may make you blush, but 
it's better to "blush unseen," like the rose, 
than go stand out in society tagged a "suc- 
cessful failure." 




92 



CHRISTMAS 



The loftiest interpretation of sentiment is 
invariably the truest. 
The man who is sentimental is more nor- 
mally human. 

Shakespeare always achieved his end by 
the aid of a subterfuge. He recognized 
that a character could not seem human 
and probable on the stage unless it were 
made true to real life, and therefore 
Shakespeare unsettled the reason of his 
characters when he would let loose the 
floodgates of sentiment. 
In the drama, in the comedy, in the trag- 
edy of life, the greater men, the greater 
characters, are sentimental, though they 
dare not speak their lines above a whis- 
per, lest the world call them mad. 




Beautiful dream of the things that were. 

IHRISTMAS is the season 
when I would talk to you by 
the side of the road. It's the 
time of the big, red, spotless 
apple, the salted snow-white 
popcorn, sweet cider, dough- 
nuts, pumpkin pie, and the warm fireplace. 
Christmas is the time when mellow mem- 
ories paint the hills of yesterday with that 
beautiful glow we failed to see at sunset to- 
day. 

Christmas is the hour when the sharp-snap- 
ping sparks from the big back-log startle us 
into the full meaning of life. It's the end of 
a day, and perhaps near the end of a life. 
Who knows? 

What a wonderful shrine to worship at — 
heartache ! 

A good heartache brings back the childhood 
scenes of long ago — the ice-pond, the long, 
steep hill, the sleighs, the skates ; and we hear 
the jingle bells, and our hearts warm until 

95 



By we see the roses and apple blossoms, and smell 

^.^ the sweet-scented clover. 

of the Beautiful dream of the things that were. 

Road ^^ ^11 *^® melodies of my memory, no sound 
can approach, for real gladness, the chimes on 
the thills of Dad's old cutter, on Christmas 
night, nigh unto forty years ago. 
Mother, Dad and " me " were going over on 
Pigeon Hill, to a Christmas tree; and right 
down under the buffalo robe was a mysterious 
package that worked on my imagination until 
Pigeon Hill seemed miles and miles away. 
And when that package on the Christmas 
tree was " called off " to me, what do you 
suppose it was? Mittens, handmade woolen 
socks, a skunkskin cap, colored popcorn balls, 
a bag of peanuts, and more mittens and socks. 
These gifts of long ago remind a man to set 
his own little watch, at Christmas time, by 
the great clock of humanity. It causes a fel- 
low to forget what the world owes him, and 
reminds him that he owes much to his grand- 
parents for giving him such a dear old daddy 
and such a wonderful mother. 



96 



GRAFT 



When some one sings " In the Gloam- 
ing," how old memories cluster! When 
you hear "The Rosary," what a heart- 
achy feeling comes stealing over you! 
Should some sweet singer touch the ten- 
der chords of " Silver Threads Among 
the Gold," how filled with wholesome 
sentiment the world would seem! 
These dripping sweet songs of long ago 
bring back the dearest memories, and we 
of the older class are richer for once hav- 
ing had these songs in our souls — richer 
for having these sweet old songs an- 
chored in our hearts, and for being able 
to interpret clearly their true meaning. 




It is to be regretted that space here will not 
allow the painting of a larger canvas. 

I O my mind, " graft " is the sale 
of anything that you do not 
own. 

No man can "graft," no one 
can get money without earn- 
ing it, unless some one else 
earns money without getting it. 
" Graft " is delivering your boss, your em- 
ployer, into the hands of unfair competition. 
" Graft " will hurry a man into the mistake 
of trying to be happy with a conscience that 
will not sleep. It is a distemper, a frenzy, a 
consuming fever. 

" Graft " is the rust that weakens the chain 
of confidence. It is a confidence game. 
In this article I am not trying to outline a 
theological plan, or build a platform of moral 
principles. I am going to try to show that 
"graft" is the surest and safest way to in- 
dividual failure. 

If you are retained or employed by, or are 
associated with, some one else, your biggest 

99 



By individual asset to yourself and to some one 

^.^ else is your reliability. 
f th '^^^ whole world is littered with men of 

Road ^^^^^^^ ability who have failed. 

"Graft" is the arbitrary tax the "trusted" 
employee puts on the seller, before he, the 
seller, can hope to get a favorable hearing with 
the buyer. 

Do away with " graft," and you can compel 
men to compete in a way that is endlessly 
interesting and perpetually useful in the mas- 
tery of art — in the survival of the best in 
business. 

Ten years ago we recovered from a munici- 
pal, state and nation " graft " epidemic. I am 
told by clear-thinking men that there is a con- 
tagion even today among a certain class, each 
of whom always wants to know, " What is 
there in it for me? " 

It is not my hope here to establish a code 
of moral ethics. This volume is not a spir- 
itual messenger. The age-long conflict be- 
tween right and wrong will go right along. 
The ground-swell of "graft," the undertow of 
bribery, will continue to drag men down. 
I'm not trying to reform any one, but I do 
want to impress upon the young man's mind 
the tremendous importance of individual re- 
liability. 



100 



A PICTURE 



Believe me, friend reader, the universe 
pays a man with the coin of his own con- 
science. 

When a fellow, big or little, goes into 
the dark alleys of the poor and picks out 
some sad, hungry soul, and whispers a 
word of courage, loans a helping hand, 
you will find, if you look closely, that this 
man is always in excellent company, 
even when alone. 

True happiness corresponds with almost 
mathematical accuracy to our ability to 
help humans up the hill. 
Genuine happiness is a by-product of self- 
forgetful service to others. 
When your pulse quickens at the sight of 
sadness, when your blood courses faster 
in the presence of want, when your heart 
softens out of sympathy, you are a safe 
man to accompany. 



No man can repay the love that is lavished by 
a mother. 




HEN a mother holds to her 
breast her babe, you have a 
picture of God-given love. 
The materialization of a part 
of a mother's life in the body 
and blood of her helpless babe, 
through whom a new soul sees light, spon- 
taneously creates a love that never falters. 
There is no task too difficult, no journey too 
long, for a mother to undertake for her child. 
The most hardened, vicious criminal is a 
harmless, lovable being in the sight of a 
mother. 

It matters not if her son is waiting the elec- 
tric chair, you will always find the mother 
pleading, and protesting his innocence, even 
ready to sacrifice self to save her son. 
In success, her smiles illuminate the way, the 
home, the festivities. In failure, her tears 
fall like gentle showers on the parched lips 
of the lad she loves. In sickness, that touch 
of tenderness, that lingering pressure of the 

103 



By 

the 
Side 



hand, remains. At such times, a mother's 

face is the most beautiful vision in all the 

world. 

„ ^^^ The wealth of a mother's love is priceless. It 
Road . . , . 

does not perish ; it cannot pass out. 

Eternity will bear witness to this fact — that 
the very ashes of a sainted mother are for- 
ever sending their wireless messages to your 
soul. 

If your mother still lives, live for her. Strew 
her last remaining days with the perfumed 
flowers of kindness. Your mother's brow may 
be wrinkled, her cheeks furrowed, and her 
hair thin and gray. But she is your mother, 
and if you are the right kind of man she will 
seem to you the most beautiful being on earth. 




104 



RACE HATRED 



To get rid of the parasite in business, 
the time-serving, subservient flunky, and 
put in his place a grilling, loyal, efficient 
man, is improving the organization. One 
decayed spot in an apple will soon spread. 
One parasite in a company virill soon dis- 
qualify the whole force. 




This coxintry will never grow big, strong or 
prosperous by perpetuating race hatred. 

EXT Sunday, and on all suc- 
ceeding Sundays, when Ameri- 
cans, who are the descendants 
of the Huguenot, the Catho- 
lic, the Cavalier, the Puritan, 
the Quaker, the Dutchman, the 
Jew, bow at the altar of God — when the sun 
of the heavens shines through the stained-glass 
windows, and when the petitions go up from 
the plain desks or the marble pulpits, I am 
sure the prayer will be for the righteousness, 
the security, the prosperity of this nation. 
This commingling of all countries and of all 
creeds, under one emblem, has made us a 
people of dauntless courage and sublime vir- 
tue — a people notable for our willingness to 
work, common sense, and a raging thirst for 
right and for liberty. 

The most contemptible, low-minded, degraded 
set of un-American citizens are those who 
appeal to race prejudice. Race animosity 
has converted French and Belgian streamlets 

107 



into rivers o£ blood. In England, in Scot- 
land, in Ireland, men have been turned into 
life penitentiaries — into exile posts. The 
^. ^h^ Turks and all the Orientals have had their 
race murders. White men have fried out the 
heart of the Negro. Indians have lashed the 
paleface to the wild horse of passion. 
And all this is race prejudice — beasthood. 



By 

the 
Side 



Road 




1 08 



FRIENDSHIP AFTER BUSINESS 



Selling is more than trading stock for 
silver certificates, material for money. 
Selling is a part of the scheme of busi- 
ness. Almost any one can sell once, but 
selling so that you can create permanent 
customers is selling successfully. 
One sale reduces itself to a confidence 
game, unless the buyer is perfectly satis- 
fied. 

Satisfaction sends the customer away 
with a smile that won't come off. 
Satisfaction is the sense that remains 
long after the transaction is done. 
Satisfaction brings a ci^tomer back as 
a regular buyer. 

Satisfied customers are never quite satis- 
fied; they always come back. 



Would you expect to reap something that you 
did not sow? 




IRIENDSHIP is the stoutest 
link in the chain of commer- 
cial life. Friendship does not 
signify that you " use " or 
that you misuse others. It 
involves the most magnificent 
conception of the right rules of getting on in 
business. 

Friendship in business is too good to be be- 
lieved by some men, and so is the truth of 
the immortality of the soul too sacred for these 
people fully to comprehend. 
I know of business men with hermit souls 
who live in the palace of self -content, but the 
men who come first in my mind are those who 
rejoice that they live among men. 
In this world that we are living in we shall 
need a friendly word at times, and a little lift 
at other times; and the best way to get these 
valuable human helps is to deserve them. 
Do you mean to tell me that men generally 
will give you a kick for a kindness ? You may 

III 



By tell me this, but I shall then question the char- 

^^.^ acter, the make-up, of your circle of busi- 

o^f the ^^^^ acquaintances. 

Road I ^o "^°t consider it possible to wave the wand 
of reform over the under-world, the peo- 
ple of the lower mental strata, the men whose 
morals are in the mud. You cannot bring 
these poor wretches into the order of friend- 
ship with one kind act. But I do know from 
personal experience that you can gain hun- 
dreds of good friends in business by first prov- 
ing to these friends that all you expect is what 
is fair and just to both. 

Some men say there is no friendship in busi- 
ness. Bosh! The annals of the world are 
filled with the best proof that this statement 
is more than bosh. 

What is the meaning of the word "help"? 
Certainly friends are not made to hinder ! 
But along with these observations I would 
impress you with this admonition: Always 
remember that it is necessary first to prove 
that you are a friend, before you can reason- 
ably expect the friendship of others. 
Friendship must be planted first by your own 
hand, nourished by your own heart; and if 
you have patience, if you are willing to wait 
until this friendship is strong, sturdy, you will 
gain something in this world that is worth 
while — friendship after business. 

112 



THE TRAIL WE WALK 



If the hypocrites who live in the ambush 
of good society would only die bachelors, 
the world would be the better for it. If 
the felt-shoe footpad would only convert 
his courage into a legitimate calling, val- 
uables and virtue would be safer. 
But of all the words that have ever 
blotted paper, none can describe that de- 
graded black devil of despair, the ingrate 
— he whose thankfulness has apoplexy, 
whose sense of appreciation is paralyzed, 
whose conscience is crippled. The im- 
placable ingrate harrows up your soul. 
His natural home is with the slippery, 
slimy inhabitants of the barnyard bogs. 
The mere mention of the word " ingrate " 
leaves the tongue fetid. 




Here you have two experiences by the side of 
the road. 



ITANDING in the shelter of a 
Sixth Avenue Elevated station 
and at the foot of the stairs 
was a woman, one of those 
emaciated, half -dressed, skele- 
ton creatures that look so 
pinched and weak. In her arms she held a 
babe that was partly covered with a piece 
of old rag carpet. 

Now, boys, I was satisfied, from the very first, 
that the woman was a panhandling pirate, a 
first-class faker, and not the mother of that 
starving babe. 

But I just naturally slipped back six stairs 
and handed her a dime. This was all wrong, 
all wrong, they say. My gift was an encour- 
agement of a crime against charity, and you 
know the greatest of these is charity. 
But, fellows, you men out in the great open 
West — what would you have done? I'll an- 
swer. You pals would have pulled up, got 

115 



By down out of the saddle, and given her a dol- 

thc lar. I gave her a dime only. 

^t^^h '^^^^^ ^^^ *^^* pale-faced, blue-eyed, purple- 

%.oad^ fingered little lump of life, too small even to 
smile. There he was, tugging away at an 
empty milk bottle, on a cold, rainy spring 
morning. 

Say, fellers, it*s been years since I wore the 
red bandanna and the belt, but even today I'd 
rather be a common coyote out on the plains 
of western Kansas and there sit and howl at 
the cold moon, than ride in a Packard and miss 
some of the things on the trail we walk. 
A few days later I had stepped from a street 
car, and had just turned the corner, when a 
woman, one of those motherly women about 
seventy or seventy-one, said in a low, sweet 
voice, " Good evening, sir." 
I bowed, tipped my hat, and stopped to speak 
with the woman — this motherly woman. 
She stood close to the wall of a building. 
Her hair was shining silver, her eyes soft but 
strange. Her lips were white and pure. She 
was honestly handsome. 
She did not attempt to walk, nor to speak 
again. Was she lame, for she leaned against 
the building? Was she ill? No, her face was 
animated. She was smiling, but there was a 
sadness through it all. I can't explain the 
look. She was respectable, I was sure ; some- 
ii6 



body's mother, I was certain. I felt like say- 



By 
the 



ing to her, " Mother, what can I do for you? " 
She started to speak again, but her voice ^^ 
failed. 
She was 



the 



Her soul apparently sank in shame. Road 



Intemperance has sent many messages to me, 
but this one experience telegraphed to my 
very soul something that will remain as long 
as life lasts. 




117 



The fellow who raises himself by the der- 
rick of personal conceit, the fellow who 
pulls an empty train of thought, the fel- 
low who believes the future is a finished 
product, the fellow who is a sixty-horse- 
power talker with a wheelbarrow of 
empty ideas, the fellow who is always 
burying the dead past and has a new 
story on the tragedy of today, the fellow 
who rides on the ebb tide of hope and 
who has a lot of sputterings to spill from 
his one-candle-power mind, is a good fel- 
low to miss on the trail. 



THE FAITHFUL FAILURE 



Think clearly, act sincerely. Play square. 
Be fair. Hike after success. Hump 
yourself. Sweat, dig in, and deliver, and 
some day the boss will call you " part- 
ner. 

Do all this for your own sake, and for the 
sake of those dependent upon you; and 
some day when you are looking for hap- 
piness, you will find it as close to you as 
the old woman's lost spectacles. 



When the time comes for a man to go, he need 
have no illusion about his success with life: 
he has failed much. 




|NE chisel might carve an epi- 
taph for all men : " Here lies 
a man who tried hard, who 
meant well, but failed much." 
Life, after all, ends in failure, 
so far as life goes. Health 
fails, friends forget, business stops; or, the 
man's life is full of rewards — until the end. 
It is then that they will tenderly take his old 
bones into some quiet spot, where the violets 
grow, or the snow paths are shoveled, and the 
best that a chisel can hope to carve is : " Here 
lies a man who tried hard, who meant well, but 
failed much." 

This will be the true epitaph that Time will 
etch for the faithful failure. 
Not long ago I stood by the fresh sod over a 
faithful failure. The sun was setting, with its 
beautiful benediction on a perfect day. Later, 
the triumphant night, with all its train of stars, 
suggested — sleep. 

121 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



On the petals of a faded rose I could see cling- 
ing the empty tenement of a once lowly worm. 
To me these two emblems of eternal life 
loaned a firmer belief in a Divine government 
that deals out justice to the faithful failure, 
irrespective of the judgment of man. 




122 



IN THE SAME BOAT 



The cares and duties of a day are weights 
in the old clock of Time. 
Remove these weights, and the hands will 
stop. The pendulum of business will no 
longer swing to and fro. The measure- 
ment of hours will halt. 




There was little said on our way home that 
afternoon. There was little left to say. 

|NE vacation day not long ago 
I sat on the center seat of an 
old flat-bottom scow. In the 
bow of the boat was a busi- 
ness man. In the stem sat a 
shiftless, slouchy son of " the 
man with the hoe." 

There were three of us, one thinking, one 
blinking, one drinking — all fishing. 
The time and the tide did not seem to favor 
any one of the three fishers. It was a condi- 
tion where we were all " in the same boat." 
The currentless water seemed dead and still. 
A gentle breeze moved the boat at will. 
Life in all its wondrousness was being mir- 
rored back to me from the smooth surface of 
that reflector stream. I had crossed the oars 
one o'er one, like the folded hands when life's 
work is done. 

We were floating the length of an old rusty 
chain, when one of my companions said to me : 
" Say, you old scout, tell me how a man can 
know when to expect success." 

125 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



" Yes," chimed in my cup-bearing friend, " tell 
us if you can, you old reasoner." 
" Very well, I'll tell you." And I pointed to 
where the shadows are heavy the whole day 
through, where the water looked dark and 
deep and blue. And this is what I told them : 
" Look ! Look intently at the individual you 
see in the water. One face you will observe 
is firm — the jaw square-set, the eye deter- 
mined. In the other you will see feebleness, 
uncertainty. The man you see in the slug- 
gish tide can tell you when to expect success." 




126 



HAPPINESS 



Democracy is dignity clothed with com- 
mon sense. One can be democratic with- 
out getting " thick," without getting out 
of place, without getting too familiar. 
It is not necessary for a manager to 
crown himself with cracked ice, or place 
a wreath of self-sufficiency on his brow. 
He can always be pleasant, and say 
" Good morning*" with a smile. He can 
always do this without losing his dignity 
or his power to lead. 




To live in a big way and be happy is to excel 
in some particular enterprise, and in the mean- 
time be a real man. 



I HE world within is the life 
worth living. The world with- 
out is a bluff — that's all. 
Keep company with your con- 
science, and always hang on 
your face a smile. 
To most men, Happy Valley lies just over 
the hill. Then, when you get to the summit 
of Success, and look down at Arcadia in the 
realm of bucolic content, some stranger, some 
agitator, some prospector for prosperity, lays 
down his prospecting pick and whispers in the 
ear of the man looking for happiness about 
the bigger mines just over the next range; 
and he, poor prospector for happiness, mis- 
takes the mines of prosperity for the wealth 
of happiness. He rushes past present pleas- 
ures, crowds his way through the cross-streets 
of real comfort, struggles out into the suburbs 
of satisfaction, and then on and on, up and 
up, over the crags, past the narrow trails, un- 

129 



By til he stands on the apex of the second range 
the Qf success and views and reviews the valley 

of the ^^^°'^- 

Roaid "^^^^ ^^^ greed for more gold that he thinks 
will bring happiness lures him on to the next 
gulch over the next hill — grips him, and he 
struggles, staggers, and finally falls on the 
foothills of Fate. 

He has never known the happiness he strug- 
gled so hard to find — happiness that every 
man finds for himself and in himself. 
True happiness for you does not lie on the 
other side of any mountain — until you reach 
the other side of the mountain; and then you 
will not find it there unless you have taken it 
with you. 

Find what you can do best, then go about it 
and do it. Do it better than others. Deliver 
it ahead of others. And you will find su- 
preme satisfaction. And this is a state that 
borders on happiness. 

Not to hate, not to fear, not to envy, are three 
other states where your mind can rest. 



130 



VACATION TIME 



In the marble halls of the rich stride the 
sons and daughters of men of money, all 
in their truce of night — silks and fancy 
vests. Life to them seems one perpet- 
ual holiday. Glasses, music, thin clouds 
of velvety smoke. Lovers and linguists. 
Good, bad, virtuous and vicious. 
In the tenements, I find children sleep- 
ing, sewing, and fighting for life. Moth- 
ers sick, though working. Little food, 
small comforts, and little hope. Hungry, 
wasted, and worn. 

These are the extremes, but I assure you 
they do not represent the general con- 
dition. They serve, however, to furnish 
the headlines for the excitable, emotional, 
temperamental writers. 
We have millions of men and women 
who are happy, successful, and satisfied 
that this is a land of special advantages. 




Are you a human phonograph, capable of giv- 
ing forth only what some one else has talked 
into you? 



I HIS is the season when the 
average man takes the low 
fences, swings in the ham- 
mock of indifference, and 
sleeps in the shade of the 
beautiful confidence that he 
will do wonderful things when he returns to 
work — that he will conquer new worlds a 
little later. 

This is an exceptionally good time, while you 
have the time, to take an individual inventory, 
to find out your own faults. 
While all of us must concede that optimism 
is the best bayonet in a business charge, that 
true optimism is much more than a continu- 
ous performance of hope, we must always un- 
derstand that the individual must also have 
with him more than mere optimism. 
While we are all willing to acknowledge the 
special value of syndicating sunlight, while we 
know from experience that true optimism is 

133 



By 

the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



bigger than a single defeat, all of us know that 
this optimism of ours has sung its Lorelei song 
until some of us have gone to sleep in the 
smug harbor of hope — just hope. 
While you are resting on your vacation, while 
you have the time, it's a good plan to take a 
long look at yourself. Answer these ques- 
tions: Are you a mechanical music box, lim- 
ited to so many records? Are you a carbon 
copy of a real result-getter — one of the crip- 
ples in the organization, with your mind in a 
strait-jacket? Are you an ordinary flat car, 
with a flat wheel, set out on the siding with 
your capacity mark crossed off? 
Or, are you the self -inspired, self -directed, self- 
starting modem man? 




134 



IT TAKES COURAGE 



The lily, in its short-lived charm of ivory 
whiteness, is but a symbol of human 
frailty; and when we see this long- 
stemmed queen of the valley covered with 
the tears of dawn, reflecting its beauties 
back into the brook, we can see more: 
we can see it carries repentance in its 
bosom. 




It takes courage while the storm is on. 

tOT long ago, one September 
day, when the curtain of night 
hung low, I stood on the 
shore of Old Ocean. The 
wind was coming in — in with 
one succession of cold cur- 
rents. There was a light through the hori- 
zon, just enough to show a mountain of high 
waves, and I rushed to the beach in curious, 
childish eagerness. 

Suddenly a wave, several times higher than 
all others, came in its onward rush toward me 
like some monster, to uncoil itself, in all its 
crushing madness, at my feet. 
Out from the distant deep this gigantic wave 
rose and made its way in a tremendous, ter- 
rible, deafening roar toward me. My heart 
almost stopped beating until the fury of this 
fierce power wasted itself in a last little ripple 
on the sands of the shore. 
In life, all of us experience some storm, stand 
in the very presence of some great wave, 

137 



By 

the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



which at first threatens to take us back in its 
undertow. 

But did you ever notice that these great waves 
soon spend their fury — that the storm usu- 
ally ends in one limpid, breathless, cloudless 
day? 

It takes courage while the storm is on. 
And you know, courage is the evidence of 
faith. 

Men who win have faith at the turning point. 
It requires grit to stick when other men 
mutiny. 

Remember, there is no permanent failure un- 
til you no longer try. Weakness of purpose is 
the preface of failure. The tide must go clear 
out before it can come back in again. Many 
men struggle against the tide until almost the 
last moment before it turns. Then, while 
near low-water mark, they stop, and as surely 
sink from sight. 




138 



HIGHBROW 



There are a few lazy, indolent, idle, lan- 
guor-loving men in America. The seda- 
tive suckers are almost all downstream. 
The lackadaisical, torpid, lumpish men 
will walk cross-lots for five miles to get 
around a real job. 

The balmy, dreamy, hypnotic humans, the 
drowsy dubs who fail to find in work an 
inspiration to want to do more — these 
men are not lazy: they are just naturally 
no good. 

These slumbering, lumbering dreamers 
who live in the Castle of Indolence are 
the lotus-eating slobs who get in the way 
of others in an organization. 
You can hear them out in the hall whis- 
tling lullabies, or lovesick songs, when 
it's work you want. With their minds on 
tango tunes, they pretend to do what you 
want them to do, but they don't. 
These humans are not lazy: they are 
lumps of misdirected energy. They will 
hang back, lag and linger around, and 
stampede the whole organization. It's 
too late to make these men over again, 
but never too early to fire them. 




And still we dream our puny dreams of our 
limited possibilities. 



|HE elevated epigrams, the 
lofty logic of the tall-timber 
writers miss the mark. The 
distinguished, dignified, far- 
advanced thinkers ring the 
bell in the bull's-eye of some 
distant star; but to my mind it is far better to 
come down to earth, hitch all this ambition 
to a dirt wagon and help fill in some of the 
sinkholes where we poor humans have to 
travel. 

Profound philosophy is for the professors. 
My simple thoughts are for common folks who 
are willing to mix a lot of work in their plans 
to win. 

The secret of big men's successes, the open- 
Sesame to wealth, can be found along the 
same narrow pathway as that which you daily 
tread. The successful men are on this earth, 
and so are you. 

In the days of Homer the demigods, the 

141 



By marvelous individuals, mingled with mortals 

the on the plains of Troy. 

"^{^^ Today we watch the men of millions and stand 

%.oad^ almost benumbed by their business success; 
yet these men live in the same world as we, 
with the same sealed opportunities. 
Speculation, chance, fate, pot-luck, some game 
of cup-tossing, may have brought to these 
money men, position, fame, or what we call 
success ; but the same absence of purpose, the 
same fluke, turf-trick, or blind bargain, can 
lower them again to their first level, and prob- 
ably will. 

The worm that a poor man baits his hook with 
may have just eaten the flesh of a king, but 
this does not improve the flavor of the fish. 
Riches are not resources: they are added re- 
sponsibilities. Wealth is a thing that you 
have and hold in your heart. Position is a 
point on the end of a slippery plank. 
If you have a palpitating void, a consum- 
ing desire to be as big as the boss, to be presi- 
dent of the company, to be manager of your 
organization, it is absolutely necessary for you 
to come down to earth and begin on a solid 
foundation — begin with a willingness to work. 



142 



TOMORROW 



In the desolation of the desert, on the 
great stretches of sand, they piled the 
grim shape of the pyramids. 
And as you take your last look at these 
man-made monuments to the dead em- 
pire of Egypt, your mind quickens, and 
a feeling of sadness sends its message to 
your spiritual side. You realize that the 
pyramids will remain; that you must go 
on — on. 




Tomorrow is a season that most men depend 
on, but today is the hour they live on. 

I HE word " tomorrow " to most 
men means the remote future. 
It is not a measure of time to 
them; it is an expression that 
frames an excuse. 
Tomorrow is the hereafter of 
all hope. Tomorrow is the refrain in the 
chorus of the failure-fellows. We all remem- 
ber the little girl who awakened in the night 
and wanted to see Tomorrow. 
Contrast this thought with that of the un- 
willing clerks, the business associates who 
come to the store, the shop, the office, and 
yawn and say, " I hope business won't be so 
heavy today, for I'm tired." 
What a disloyal, disinterested, disgraceful 
statement to make, when the owners are 
struggling so hard for success ! What a dam- 
nable idea! 

Tomorrow is a by-product of the present. 
Tomorrow is the day when you propose to 
start that bank account, take out that life in- 

145 



By surance, fit yourself for a higher position — 

*^e change your course. 
{the ^"* some day you will awaken suddenly, Mr. 

Road Man, to this situation; it will be your last 
chance, and you will, from force of habit, in- 
quire, " Is this tomorrow? " Fate will reply, 
** No, you big, whimpering idiot, this is to- 
day ! " And then the door of opportunity will 
slam shut in your face. 




146 



THINK THIS OVER 



To remember a woman's birthday and 
forget her age reqiiires cleverness. 




Until your mind and your body are on fire with 
the eagerness to want to do, you will remain 
a common, ordinary man — that's all. 

lUCCESS is at the other end 
of the line. Failure is always 
close at hand. Think this 
over. Failure you can expe- 
rience without effort. Suc- 
cess requires courage, training 
and hard work. 

One is worse than worthless. The other is 
very valuable. 

Your life is an individual affair. It is your 
own. You may make a success out of it, or a 
failure out of it. Suit yourself. 
But there is hardly a limit to your possible 
achievement provided you will plug along and 
work for all you are worth. 
Success is its strongest support in success. 
Work is never work when you are willing. 
You are a much bigger man than you think 
you are. Your greatest fault is that you prob- 
ably don't think so. Few men with bumpitis 
will read this, but there's little chance to save 
them anyway. 

149 



By 
the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



My advice to you is to build a big fire under 
your boiler of self-confidence. 
When blind men, sick men, boys and girls, and 
even physically weak women, win, in a big 
way in this world, why not you? 
When you feel that you are a partial failure, 
you are on safe ground. When you are sat- 
isfied with yourself, you are on the bogs. A 
certain amount of self -dissatisfaction is a good 
tonic. If you are ambitious, you will never be 
satisfied with what you do or how you do it. 
When you get to the point of thinking you 
are a smarter man than those around you, call 
in a brain specialist and have him treat you 
for the intellectual infirmity known as going- 
crazy-about-yourself. 




150 



COOPERATION 



When he passes at the foot of the moun- 
tain the camel knows himself. Would 
that more men could walk at the base of 
the hill! They would get higher humps 
on themselves. 
Do not mistake a bump for a hump. 




Cooperation between capital and labor should 
take its place alongside of the knowledge of 
chemistry, physics and the other factors in in- 
dustry. 

I HE shoulder-to-shoulder idea 
of individuals is what puts the 
punch in any enterprise. 
The stroke which is a long 
pull, a strong pull, and a pull 
all together, is the stroke of 
success. But you cannot call for allegiance, 
for cooperation, until you treat your employ- 
ees equitably, fair, right. Neither can em- 
ployees expect the spirit of support from 
their management until they first prove their 
worth. 

Unfortunately, many men fail to " first " prove 
their willingness to prove their worth. 
Cooperation is not cringing, crouching, crawl- 
ing. Loyalty is not licking the boots of the 
boss. Allegiance is not doing fetch-and-carry 
work. 

Cooperation is nothing more, nothing less, 
than discipline, preparation, a rehearsal for 
responsibility. 

153 



By Cooperation hatches humans for higher posi- 
the tions. Cooperation is the scaffolding of sta- 
Side bility, the stepping-stone to management, the 

„ ^■J^ foundation for financial permanence. 

Road ^ .. ^. . ^1. . r 

Cooperation is the warming-pan of prosper- 
ity. It clears the decks for effective action, 
and sends such a shock into competition as to 
make the big ship rock and roll and start her 
pumps. 

Cooperation sends an organization into the 
battle for business booted and spurred. 
Cooperation is a corporation, is a company, is 
an organization. 

Individuals are the instruments of big busi- 
ness, each being fitted for the most exacting 
work, and all working in perfect harmony. 
Worlds, planets, keep their course — cooper- 
ate. Atoms cooperate and build worlds. 
Napoleon lost through the loss of cooperation. 
Many business men meet their Waterloo this 
way. 

Business can be no bigger than the men who 
cooperate to make it. 

The man who fails to cooperate should be 
promptly shelved, and so leave room behind 
the counter, on the road, in the office, for a 
man who appreciates the tremendous worth of 
the word " cooperation." 
The attitude men take toward business is of 
more moment than the muscle they expend. 
154 



And the attitude of the mind is governed by By 
self-interest. the 

This is human law. "S^^e 

All the bunk of fair promises, all the tyranny ^ *^^ 
of threats, all discipline, all diplomacy, can 
never take the place of the dollar, that is as 
dear to the heart of the workingman as it is 
essential to the life of the money man. 
You cannot bulldoze or browbeat, coax or ca- 
jole service. 

Man's motive for work is pay, which affords 
him means to shelter, to clothe and to feed. 
The laboring man works to protect himself 
and his family from want, and until this in- 
stinct for self-preservation is satisfied, all the 
other requirements must needs wait. 
Business is a battle, and if your army is made 
up of drafted men you will go down to de- 
feat. 

If it is made up of volunteers, you will go up 
to victory. 

Make your appeal to the best side of a man. 
Such an appeal will find its way to his mind 
and heart. When you try to govern your as- 
sociates, your help, by force, you fail in the 
long run. Loyal, willing help is cooperation, 
and this cooperation counts more than extra 
cash in the envelope of an employee who is 
working for you but not with you. 
The days of working merely to secure means 

155 



By to prevent hunger and poverty have passed. 

the Labor works for more than wages. It works 

Side to advance in the estimation of the employer, 

^ *^* and to save from the reward enough to bring 

comfort to the home and advantages to the 

coming generation. And what an American 

privilege this is! 

Capital is compelled to rely on the intelligent 
cooperation of labor. The old-school disci- 
pline in business that was brutal will not work 
now. 

The type of boss with a ready fist and a hot 
foot, the profane slavedriver, is on the calen- 
dars out of use. 

Employers are experimenting in many ways 
to make work pleasurable, and labor is ac- 
knowledging this effort by being more effi- 
cient with even less exhaustion. 
We can all get the maximum results out of 
machinery, but to get the best out of men is 
more important. Efficient labor means more 
pay for the men and more profit for the man- 
agement. 



156 



WHITE SAILS 



Life is either up or down. Either on- 
ward or backward. Life cannot stand 
still. Man never rises higher than the 
level of his mind — never. 




O Distance! you dear old enchantress! You 
show us the white sunlit sails at sea, but in the 
harbor they look grim and gray. 



IN the charm of distance I can 
see, in my mind's eye, the lit- 
tle district schoolhouse, where 
I whittled the desk, where I 
whispered without permission, 
where I spelled down, where I 
stayed in at recess, where I sat and burned my 
cowhide boots on the base-burner stove while 
trying to memorize some simple story of the 
Revolution. 

I can see the snow as it sifts under the en- 
trance door and drifts in little piles on the 
wide-cracked floor. 

And in summer, in memory's hall a picture 
hangs of the same little home of leamin' — a 
picture with all its beautiful gilding of golden, 
olden days. 

I can see this little schoolhouse just as plain ! 
There before it is the seldom-traveled road 
that forked with the main thoroughfare to 
town — the road with its green grass center 

159 



By 

the 
Side 
of the 
Road 



that the cows kept cropped. There is the 
meadow just back of the little school, full of 
daisies, wild flowers and wild strawberries; 
and I can almost hear the hum of the honey- 
bees as they steal the sweets from the flowers 
that grow in that old stump fence. 
I can almost recall the day-dreams of my 
happy boyhood. 

What would men in their prime do, were it 
not for the dreams ahead? 
What would men do in their ceaseless fight, 
were it not for the dreams behind? 
How beautiful it is to be able to live by the 
inspiration of the past, and the hope of the 
future ! 

How common it is for humans to let the little 
things of life mar the majesty of the pres- 
ent! 

If the past was beautiful, if the future is hope- 
ful, why should we not appreciate the pres- 
ent? 




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